The Demons of Wrangel Island
by Jen Martin
Summary: Trouble brews when Nelson and Crane try to help a stricken oil tanker. It's hard enough to fight a clever enemy who holds all the cards, but when an incident from the past turns a trusted crew member into a traitor, even Crane's strength may not be enough.
1. Some Days Are Better Than Others

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 1: Some Days are Better than Others**_

"Admiral, please report to the control room."

Harriman Nelson looked up from the book he'd been reading, surprised by the urgency in his captain's voice. Lee's tone was clipped, betraying more than a trace of anxiety. Nelson slid off his bunk and crossed the cabin quickly to his desk, clicking on the com.

"What's the matter, Lee?"

"The _Titan's_ in trouble, sir. They're requesting assistance."

"The oil tanker?" Nelson's brow furrowed. The Titan was a supertanker launched only the previous year.

"Yes, sir. They were damaged in this morning's storm and one of the holds is leaking." Lee paused and Nelson leaned closer to the com. "The Captain says there's the possibility of a massive spill."

"On my way." The admiral's book slipped unnoticed from his hand, falling beside his desk. Nelson didn't stop to pick it up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The control room of _Seaview_ was bustling when Nelson made his way forward. The submarine had escaped damage in the storm, but had picked up the entire crew of a capsized fishing vessel, twenty-one men in all. _Seaview_ had changed course to return the men to their homes in the Maldives, a two-day journey at standard speed. Nelson noticed the weariness of the crew as he picked his way to Crane's side, nodding at the men who wove around him carrying out their duties. It had not been an easy morning. "What's the news?"

"Not good." Lee pointed to a coordinate on the chart in front of them. "Here's _Titan_, completely in the opposite direction from our current course. Even if we double-back at flank speed, we wouldn't reach her for eleven hours."

"Can anyone else assist?"

Lee shook his head. "Captain Marcel says he needs us. You and me, specifically."

"You and me," Nelson said wonderingly. "Why?"

"They've got some flooding issues, but the real problem is their computer. The Captain says they were struck by lightening and all systems were knocked offline. They've had a hell of a time getting communications back up and the pumps going. They can manually override most areas, but there's a valve stuck open in one of the holding tanks and the water level's too high for them to get to it. It'll take hours to get that section pumped out."

"Can the Captain repair the computer?"

Lee shook his head. "Not quickly enough. He says he's doing what he can, but he needs expert help. The computer system on _Titan_ is state of the art. Not as advanced as _Seaview's_, but still pretty complicated."

"We can't allow that oil to spill into the ocean."

"No, sir, Lee agreed, "but if they just need the two of us, why don't we go to them in the flying sub and leave _Seaview_ on course for the Maldives? Chip can take the fishermen home and we can catch up when _Titan's_ computer is fixed." Crane looked at Morton, who was closely following their exchange. "Chip, can you hold down the fort until the Admiral and I return?"

"No problem, Lee. I'll have the flying sub prepared right away."

"Thanks, and Chip," he tossed his exec a smile, "try to stay out of trouble while we're gone."

Morton raised an eyebrow. "I think that's my line."

"Lee," Nelson said, "did _Titan_ request medical assistance?"

"No, they didn't mention it."

"Better ask Jamie to come anyway," Nelson said, "and tell him to bring his emergency kit, just in case."

"Chip, ask Kowalski to report to the FS-1, too," Lee said. "If I have to take a dive in that flooded hold I'll need some help."

Nelson smiled. Lee was a fair man and didn't play favorites, but somehow Kowalski always ended up being chosen as the go-to man for missions. "We do have few other qualified divers among the crew, you know."

"We certainly do, but you can't deny it, sir— Kowalski's the best. Smart, dependable…"

Nelson held up his hands. "You won't get any argument from me. I'm just suggesting you give the others a chance more often."

"I do. I will," Lee promised, "but for something tricky like diving in the darkness of a flooded hold, I definitely want Kowalski."

Nelson chuckled. "Fair enough. I'll meet you and the team in the FS-1's bay at," he glanced at his watch, "13:00. We've got a long flight ahead of us and we need to move fast to stop that oil leak."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a little more than three hours later when the FS-1 docked beside the _Titan_. It had been a crowded flight for the four men with all their gear. Nelson and Crane had brought specialized tools as well as replacement parts for the oil tanker's computer. Nelson clambered through the hatch, a duffle bag full of components weighing down each shoulder, and scanned the sea with an appraising eye. He sighed, relieved, at the clean, blue waves lapping against the FS-1. "It can't be too bad yet," he said to Lee, who emerged behind him just as laden. "I don't see an oil slick."

"Maybe the leak's on the other side, sir."

"Maybe." Nelson cast his gaze up to the rail of the _Titan_. A number of sailors were assembled there, watching them. They looked like statues silhouetted against the afternoon sky. There was something about their unmoving regard that made the admiral uneasy. Shaking his head, Nelson motioned to Crane. "Up you go, Lee!" He couldn't help but add, "And be careful."

Crane nodded once, briskly. "Don't worry, I won't fall." The captain maneuvered gracefully around Nelson and started to climb the metal ladder on the side of the _Titan._

"I know you won't." Nelson sighed. "That wasn't what I meant." Since he wasn't sure exactly what he _had_ meant, he shrugged back into the straps of his duffle bags and followed. He climbed more slowly, reflecting that maybe he was getting a little too old to be clambering up the sides of ships with forty pounds of gear hanging from him. He had almost reached the top, Jamie and Kowalski just behind him, when he heard Lee's bags hit the deck with a clang. He surged up the last few rungs, prepared to chew his captain out for being so careless with expensive and delicate equipment. The moment he reached the top, his arms were enclosed from shoulder to wrist by many pairs of hands. He gave a startled exclamation as they hauled him unceremoniously onto the deck. Nearby, Lee was struggling to free himself from the similar grasp of a half-dozen men.

"What is the meaning of this?" Nelson demanded, as his equipment was torn away by fingers too quick and strong to catch.

A short, solid man in a plain blue shirt stepped forward, eyeing him critically, before leaning out over the ladder. "You men below," he called to the doctor and Kowalski, "don't try to go back to your flying sub. Come up immediately, if you want your Captain and Admiral to live!"

Slowly, Jamie and then Kowalski appeared at the side. They, too, were pulled on board and their equipment taken from them. Several of _Titan's_ sailors produced small pistols, which they pointed at their bewildered guests.

"I ask you again," Nelson said in what seemed to him a very reasonable tone, given the circumstances, "what is this all about?" His eyes narrowed as he studied the face of the man in the blue shirt. He was undoubtedly the leader, yet he wore no uniform or insignia. "_Captain_ Marcel? You don't really have an oil leak at all, do you? And I suppose you're not really the captain of this vessel, either?"

Marcel advanced on Nelson and, almost casually, dealt him a backhanded blow that would have made him stagger if he hadn't been held so firmly. "You're very astute. That's good. I hope you'll listen to reason."

Nelson cast a quick, warning glace at Lee, who had renewed his struggles. The captain's indignant expression worried him. He knew how quickly a situation could escalate and it was usually Lee who ended up coming to harm. Recovering his composure, Nelson made an effort to speak lightly. "It seems I have no choice but to listen. What do you have to say? "

"First things first. It's best for you to understand your position right away. No point in coddling you, Admiral, or," he pointed to Lee, "him." At his signal, one of the men holding Lee twisted the Captain's arm high behind his back. Lee's startled cry of pain made Nelson flinch but the Admiral's voice, when he spoke again, was icy.

"What do you want from us?"

"At the moment," Marcel said, "I want you to be alone. Later," he smiled thinly, "I'll have some additional requests."

Nelson cocked his head, regarding Marcel appraisingly. To the side, Lee remained doubled-over, silent except for the breath that came hard through his teeth.

"Take them below, search them, and separate them," Marcel ordered.

Nelson almost lost his footing as he was dragged down into the belly of the tanker. The air was hot and full of oil vapors, and for a moment he was overcome with dizziness. Shuffling sounds behind him told him his crew were receiving similar treatment. The inside of the tanker was vast and dim. Nelson's captors made a sharp left and pulled him down a narrow passageway. The admiral strained his neck to look over his shoulder and caught sight of Jamie being pulled to the right. Then they reached an empty cabin, lit only by a flickering florescent rod in the ceiling. Pushed from behind, Nelson finally lost his balance and fell onto the deck. Hard hands held him down while others searched his clothes quickly and thoroughly, relieving him of his pocket knife and matches. Then the door slammed behind him and was secured. When the sailors' footsteps had faded down the corridor, Nelson raised himself onto his elbows. A mélange of fear, anger, and disbelief swirled in his mind—a dangerous combination, but a feeling of impotence overwhelmed them all. He was alone, his men were in danger, and there was nothing he could do.


	2. A Needle in the Mind

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 2: A Needle in the Mind**_

Lee tried to keep track of how long he'd been locked in the cramped, empty cabin, but the men who had left him there had confiscated his watch. His thirst and the gnawing of his empty stomach told him it had been hours since he'd been left alone in the semi-darkness. He'd checked every inch of the room carefully, discovering nothing that would help him escape. Everything useful he'd carried on his person had been taken, leaving him with nothing but his clothes. At first, he'd considered simple confinement a good sign, better than the alternatives he could imagine, but as time passed he grew increasingly frustrated. It was impossible to fight an enemy he couldn't even see, much less try to reason with. He knew this was all part of Marcel's game—the solitude, the uncertainty about what was happening to the others, the lack of water and food. He'd seen, even experienced, it all before and yet the sense of displacement, of growing weakness as dehydration started to set in, was always disconcerting.

Lee smacked his fist lightly against the wall. These men knew their work, and unfortunately it would be hours, probably even a couple of days, before Chip became seriously worried about their lack of contact. He let his palm track down the smooth, metal wall and his body followed, sinking to the floor. There was no bunk to lie on, so he curled on his side and closed his eyes.

Immediately, the lights in the ceiling flared and the blare of a horn shattered the silence. Eyes stinging in the sudden glare, Lee shielded his face with his arm and surveyed the cabin. High in the far wall, well out of reach, a small camera watched him. Well-hidden in the darkness, he'd missed it when he'd checked the cabin before. _So there's to be no rest, either_, he thought grimly. Abandoning his attempt to sleep, he sat with his back against the wall and his legs drawn up. Tired, hot, and mouth dry with thirst, he dropped his forehead against his knees. It was probably close to midnight, but it was impossible to sleep with the relentless noise. Lee found his mind wandering from one unwanted thought to the next, unable to find peace in any. He could only hope the Admiral, Kowalski, and Jamie were faring better.

X

Kowalski sat across the table from his captor. He had been brought above deck at dawn, just in time to feel the first breeze of the morning against his overheated skin. It was wonderful being in the open air after spending a sleepless night in the dank hold with his nostrils filled with the smell of oil and his own sweat. Every time he'd been about to drift off to sleep, something had contrived to waken him. Eventually, he'd shouted his frustration to his invisible jailers and, amazingly, they had come in answer to his call. He'd expected a few blows and had readied himself for a fight, but instead they'd offered him water and apologized for his discomfort. Then they told him Marcel wanted to see him.

_Why?_ Kowalski asked himself, puzzled. No one important ever cared about talking with him when the Skipper and the Admiral were around. Yet Marcel asked to speak specifically with him, the guards had said. He couldn't figure it out, couldn't understand why they wanted him. All he knew was that he was finally out of that miserable little cabin, and if Marcel wanted to talk, well, he could talk.

Now he sat across from the man, sizing him up. Marcel wasn't imposing, but Kowalski had to admit he had style. He was finishing off a huge breakfast, served on fine bone china. It was a weird juxtaposition: the busy, work-a-day bridge of the oil tanker and the thin, dainty plates balanced on the small, metal table. _One good storm surge,_ Kowalski thought, _and all that tea party junk would fall off and smash on the deck._ He wished for a moment he was Neptune and could make it happen.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a sailor appeared at his shoulder and handed him a cup of coffee. Kowalski took it without thinking, scowling into its milky depths. His stomach urged him to drink it, but he hesitated. Marcel noticed and smiled his thin, hard smile. "It isn't poisoned or drugged. Why should I wish to poison you? You're hardly the man in charge, are you?"

Kowalski looked at him sharply, then ventured a sip. It was barely warm and tasted as sweet and cloying as it smelled.

"You must be very hungry and tired. Please, have some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Kowalski growled. He put the cup on the table abruptly, as if it burned his hand.

"Of course you are," Marcel said reasonably. "You're just worried about your Captain and your Admiral. You don't want to eat if they're not eating. Well, if it will make you feel better, they both dined with me a short while ago, while you were still down in the hold. They didn't seem to mind eating without you, so you shouldn't think twice about having some of their leftovers." He heaped a plate with eggs and sausage and put in down in front of Kowalski with a _plunk_.

Slowly, Kowalski brought a forkful to his mouth. Saliva flooded his mouth at the smell of the food, and he swallowed quickly, hardly noticing the taste. Whether the Captain and Admiral had eaten or not, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to rebuild his strength.

Marcel watched him eat with approval. "You know," he said conversationally, "this is supposed to be your final meal."

Kowalski's fork halted in mid-air and he stared wide-eyed at his captor.

"Oh, yes," Marcel continued. "When I entertained your Captain and Admiral earlier, I made it clear to them that someone must die before sundown if they don't provide me with a few specifics about the _Seaview's_ propulsion system. They weren't willing to be helpful, so I wrote the names of the four of you on slips of paper. Of course, I don't know your name, so I just wrote _Nelson, Crane, doctor, crewman_. I asked your Captain to draw and guess whose slip he drew?"

"The Skipper wouldn't play games with our lives," Kowalski said angrily.

"Oh, but he did and do you know what I think? I watched his face when he read the paper and he was so relieved, so glad it wasn't him or the Admiral who was chosen to die."

"You're lying!" Kowalski jumped to his feet and swept the table, the china crashing around him. "You're a damned liar!"

Marcel shook his head. "Surely you don't imagine you're as important as a officer? Don't you know that crewmen like yourself are a dime a dozen? I'm willing to offer you a chance to live, though. Perhaps I rate your usefulness higher than your Captain does. I have need of experienced men. You see, I'm a bit new to commanding a ship. I haven't even chosen my first officer yet. Imagine yourself in command, roving the seas with a crew of good men chosen by merit, not rank." Marcel smiled, "Or you can die. Your choice."

As Kowalski stared at him in stunned silence, Marcel gestured to the guards. "You don't have to decide right now. Think about it. You have a little time. I can offer you more than you'll ever get on that submarine of yours, if you have the guts to take charge of your destiny. In the meantime, you're welcome to rest. My men will escort you to a quiet cabin with a comfortable bunk, and I promise nothing will disturb your sleep."

X

A hard slap jolted Nelson back to full consciousness. It was followed quickly by another. Harry bit back a moan as he opened his eyes. Seeing he was awake, the guard withdrew to his place beside the hatch. Nelson shook his head to clear it, shifting awkwardly. He was kneeling on the deck of the empty cabin, his wrists tied behind his back. Two guards stood at the hatch, one with pistol drawn, covering him at all times. The other stood ready to punish him if he moved or fell asleep.

Throughout the long night he'd been forced to stay in this miserable position, unable to rest. Early in the morning, Marcel had arrived looking very pleased with himself. He told Nelson he'd had a wonderful breakfast, and wasn't it a shame Nelson hadn't shared it with him? All the Admiral needed to do was call _Seaview_ to come and rendezvous with the _Titan_ and he could have food and sleep to his heart's content.

Harry's answer had earned a few swift blows, as had his question about what was happening to his men. Then Marcel had withdrawn, saying he would come back every hour until Nelson agreed to deliver the submarine to him. It was now, if Harry had calculated correctly, 16:00. They had been prisoners for a full 24 hours, but it felt like much longer.

His face was hot and swollen from the battering it was taking, but that was the least of Nelson's concerns. Thirst, at first merely uncomfortable, had become a torment. Worse still was the exhaustion of his body and mind. If he tried to lie down, the guard slapped him and pulled him back onto his knees. If he tried to stand, he was slapped and pushed down. Falling asleep was the worst, for the moment he closed his eyes the stinging blows fell, forcing water from the corner of his eyes. A kind of animal desperation was overtaking him and the part of Nelson's mind that was still rational knew it was only a matter of time before he reached a crisis: either he would break and do as Marcel asked, or fall into an unconsciousness so deep that all the abuse they could heap upon him would fail to rouse him. Then, he felt certain, Marcel would turn his attention to Crane, if he hadn't already. The Captain also had the authority to contact _Seaview_ and order the rendezvous. So far, Nelson hoped he had shielded Lee by concentrating Marcel's efforts on himself, but for all he knew his Captain was already undergoing the same torment. The Admiral had the uneasy feeling his captor was well trained in the art of breaking men.

The sound of the hatch opening forced Nelson to focus on the present. He squinted at Marcel as his captor entered the cabin, feeling his pulse rate soar. He had to do something before their treatment robbed him of his reason and he could only come up with one idea. It wasn't a good one, Harry admitted, but he didn't have many cards to play. At least it would assure the end of Marcel and guarantee _Seaview's _safety.

"So, have these gentlemen helped you understand your situation?" Marcel stood above him, hands on his hips. "Will you contact your submarine and tell the Executive Office to bring her to the coordinates I provide?"

Slowly, Nelson raised his eyes. They were clouded with exhaustion and pain, but his gaze was steady. "Yes," he croaked. "Yes, I'll do as you ask. I'll call _Seaview_."


	3. Betrayal

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

Thanks to everyone for your kind comments and encouragement. Sorry for the delay posting this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

_**Chapter 3: Betrayal**_

_Kowalski was lying on frozen ground. He stroked the short, hardy lichen beside him with his gloved hand, wondering how the plants managed to survive in such severe conditions. It was more than a human, alone and with scant shelter, could hope to achieve. Even cocooned in leather and fur, his fingers were growing numb. How long had he been here? How long had he been alone? Trapped in the prison of his damaged body, his mind wandered perilously far. He couldn't feel his broken leg any more and that was a good thing, especially since he was shivering so violently. Earlier, the pain had been enough to take his breath away. The frigid air of Wrangel Island would keep his body from decomposing quickly, and that was a hopeful thought. There might be enough of him left for his brother to recognize, if they ever found his remains and brought them back._

_The canteen lay beside his hand, empty. And the Skipper… gone. Kowalski couldn't erase the memory of him walking away, a gray shadow in the falling snow. He never looked back at the stricken man he left behind. Kowalski wanted to call to him, to beg him not to go, but it would have been pointless. The Skipper wouldn't have come back._

"_Don't leave me here," he whispered. "For God's sake, Skipper, have some pity! Please! Please!"_

Kowalski's eyes flew open. His breath was coming in great gasps and his leg ached as if the fracture in his femur was fresh and not over a year old. Untangling his long limbs, he sat up on the side of the bunk and buried his face in his hands. He'd had this nightmare many times before, but not for the last few months. Each time it was a little different, as his subconscious dredged up new details about the horribly botched ONI mission on Wrangel Island. He sat for a while unmoving, reliving those days in his mind as his breathing slowly returned to normal and the horrors of the dream dissipated.

His head throbbed with a dull, steady ache and he downed the glass of water on the table beside him in a single gulp. The cabin he was in now had a porthole through which he could see the westering sun. He'd apparently slept most of the afternoon. Marcel would be coming for him soon. Kowalski set his jaw and glared at the play of light on the water outside. It was like the gleam of the sun on the snowy tundra of Wrangel, hard and unyielding. His gaze as he studied it, lost in thought, became as cold and brittle as ice.

He didn't move when the cabin door opened and Marcel and two of his sailors entered. His captor stood patiently in the center of the cabin, waiting for Kowalski to speak. "Well?"

"I'm with you," Kowalski said. It was as simple as that. The words were spoken, the deed done, the choice made.

Marcel nodded with the unsurprised expression of a man used to getting his way. "I'm glad to hear it, but I warn you: if you change your mind, the death sentence will be reinstated immediately." He spoke commandingly, with a touch of steel behind his words. It didn't pay to be too magnanimous.

"I won't change my mind."

"Good man," Marcel said.

"The name's Kowalski."

"What?"

"Kowalski." He repeated the syllables slowly.

"Yes, of course- your name. Very helpful. Thank you." Marcel turned to leave and gestured that Kowalski should accompany him. "Come with me. We need to find a more suitable cabin and clothes for my new first officer."

"What about pay?"

"How much do you make now?"

Marcel shook his head when he heard the sum. "So little? When Admiral Nelson is such a wealthy man? I imagine your captain makes a tidy amount, but I suppose the crew doesn't share in the riches." He clapped Kowalski on the back. "Your life is about to change, my friend. If everything works out as planned, I'll triple your salary. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great." Kowalski winced and rubbed his forehead vigorously. "Say, Captain, my head is killing me. Can I see Doc? Aspirin won't touch my headaches, but he's got these pills that always fix me up."

For a moment Marcel hesitated, then he said. "I don't see why not. Let's both pay him a visit."

X

Jamie looked up eagerly from the medical book he was studying when Kowalski entered his cabin. He'd read the book many times and was too anxious about the fate of his fellow prisoners to lose himself in a discussion of new surgical techniques. The book was just a distraction anyway, the only thing to do in the sparsely appointed cabin that even halfway occupied his mind. At least, Jamie reflected, his guards had given his belongings back to him after they'd searched them. It was more then he'd expected, but he guessed they assumed he couldn't use anything in his medical kit to escape. Unfortunately, he had to agree they were correct.

He'd been treated well enough since being hustled below deck the previous afternoon, but had seen no one except the silent sailors who arrived every six hours with food and water. They answered none of his questions and Jamie had begun to despair of ever finding out what was going on.

He leaped to his feet and rushed toward Kowalski, only to stop in his tracks when he saw Marcel and the guards behind him. "Kowalski," he said warily, "what's going on? Are you all right? How are the Captain and the Admiral?"

"I'm fine, Doc, and I guess the others are, too. Captain Marcel says they're OK and not to worry about them. Officers are good at looking out for themselves."

Jamie stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. "What are you talking about?" he breathed. "What have they done to you?"

"I haven't done anything to him," Marcel answered briskly, before Kowalski could speak. "Mr. Kowalski is a smart man. Too smart and talented for the uses he's been put to on _Seaview_. I offered him a better life and he's taken me up on it."

"Kowalski, is this true? Are you helping this… this kidnapper?"

"I'm not doing anything different than you would in my place, Doc! We all want to live, right? The Skipper's pretty good at surviving regardless of what happens to anyone else, so why shouldn't I be, too?" Kowalski winced and rubbed his eyes. "Anyway, I don't have to explain. I just came here for some of that headache medicine you gave me last year, not a lecture."

Jamie looked at him sharply. "Are you having those dreams again?"

"Yeah, maybe," Kowalski said irritably. "Look, Doc, just give me the medicine, will ya? Enough to really knock me out and let me get some rest."

"I don't know. I'm not inclined to give you anything until you submit to a full medical examination." Jamie paused as Marcel drew his pistol and clicked the safety off. Slowly and deliberately, he pointed the gun at Jamie.

"Give my first officer the medicine he's requested. It would be challenging to try to remove a bullet from your own body, wouldn't it, Doctor? I doubt you'd be very successful."

"You're insane," Jamie said, "and you've brainwashed him. I don't know how you've done it, but I know you have."

"The medicine." Marcel gestured with the pistol toward Jamie's supplies.

Shaking his head, Jamie dug in his medical kit until he found the bottle of pills. He slapped it into Kowalski's hand angrily and turned away. "You know the dosage," he growled. "Now take them and get out!"

"Thank you very much," Marcel said. "You've been most helpful."

X

Marcel led Kowalski to a larger cabin and gave him clean clothes like his own: blue pants and shirt without insignia. The guards showed him where to shower and waited while he cleaned himself and dressed. Then they led him to the bridge of the oil taker. Marcel was waiting for him just outside.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Kowalski looked around, hands in pockets. It was early evening and a cool breeze was starting to stir above the water. "What's my first job?"

"Admiral Nelson is on the bridge and will be contacting _Seaview_ in a moment. He's agreed to lure her here."

"Really?" Kowalski raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you could talk him into doing that. He's pretty stubborn."

Marcel smiled. "I hate to disillusion you, but he's not nearly as strong as he pretends to be. I told him someone must die at sundown because of his refusal to cooperate and it wouldn't be you, since you've decided to join us. He flew into a rage when I told him he would be executed instead." Marcel shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid you may be shocked by his condition. It's a shame— we've tried to treat him with the respect due his rank, but I'm afraid we had to subdue him rather forcefully. When he saw he couldn't escape or make me change my mind, he broke down and begged for his life. I thought you should know before you see him. It was a truly regrettable scene and I'm afraid he's a bit the worse for wear."

Kowalski nodded. "I understand. The Admiral can be really difficult. I'm sure you did what you had to."

"Exactly," Marcel said, stepping back and ushering Kowalski ahead of him onto the bridge.

Nelson stood at the radio, surrounded by guards. At first, Kowalski could barely see him in the crowd of sailors. He leaned heavily against the apparatus, as if he was holding himself upright by sheer force of will. He looked up as Marcel entered, his dull eyes flaring briefly as he recognized Kowalski. "Another hostage?" he asked, his voice soft and hoarse.

"Hardly," Marcel said smoothly. "A new member of my crew."

"I see," Nelson grunted and turned his gaze on Kowalski, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Are you ready to contact _Seaview_ and order her to the coordinates we send?"

"Yes." Nelson cleared his throat with little success. "Yes, I'll do that."

"Give him some water," Marcel commanded one of the guards. "We want the Admiral to sound as normal as possible."

Nelson took the cup in trembling hands and sipped the water gingerly. After the first slow sips, he drank more deeply until the cup was drained.

"Captain," the radio operator said, "we've raised _Seaview_!"

Marcel handed the mic to Nelson. "Be careful," he warned.

Nelson glared at him and opened the channel. "Admiral Nelson calling _Seaview_." His voice sounded stronger, almost the easy, familiar voice Kowalski had heard over the radio many times.

"Admiral? Is that you, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Morton. How are things on the boat?"

"Just fine, sir. We'll be in the Maldives tomorrow morning. How are the repairs going?"

"Not as well as I would like," Nelson said, casting a wary eye at Marcel. "The _Titan_ is requesting additional assistance and is transmitting coordinates for a rendezvous. Have they come through?"

"Aye, sir, we're receiving them."

"Good." Nelson's tone was conversational, unemotional. "Under no circumstances should you bring _Seaview_ to these coordinates. It's a trap, Chip. Repeat: it's a…"

Nelson had hoped to get a least another word or two out before the mic was wrested from his hand and he was thrown down onto the deck, but Marcel was quicker than he looked. The mic was left dangling and Nelson's breath was cut off as Marcel's forearm blocked his windpipe. The world spun alarmingly then righted itself as the pressure on his throat lessened, although it was still impossible to speak.

There was silence on the bridge except for Morton's voice, tinged with concern. "Admiral? Are you there, sir? Please repeat your last sentence. I'm not I heard you correctly."

Marcel looked around wildly, clearly at a loss as to how to respond, but Kowalski calmly picked up the mic. "Commander Morton, this is Kowalski."

"What's going on?" The concern was evident in Chip's voice.

"Everything's under control, sir. One of the computer terminals just shorted and started an electrical fire on the bridge. The Admiral had to attend to it and Captain Marcel just said he's got some men trapped below. Sorry you were hearing parts of other conversations, sir. It's pretty confusing here right now and we sure could use some help. The Admiral would like you to bring _Seaview_ to the coordinates transmitted at flank speed."

"Thanks for the clarification, Ski. Tell the Admiral we're on our way. _Seaview_ out."

Kowalski switched the mic off and calmly replaced it on the transmitter. He stood above Nelson, looking down impassively as Marcel snarled, "Not very clever, Admiral. How will it feel to die knowing you accomplished nothing? _Seaview_ will be mine and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"He might still be useful," Kowalski said.

Marcel smiled grimly, considering. "I should kill you, Nelson, but I'll let you live if you'll help us when Mr. Morton arrives. What do you say? No more tricks?"

Nelson almost laughed, but he hurt too much. "What do you think you can do to me to make me promise that?"

"Did I say anything about doing something to _you_?" Marcel leaned in, his arm hard against Harry's throat, pinning him helplessly. "I think you'll be willing to help. I think you'll even be eager to."

X

On board _Seaview_, Chip put down the mic and turned to Chief Sharkey. "Did you hear that?"

Sharkey shook his head and chuckled. "Sure sounds like the Skipper and the Admiral have their hands full."

"Maybe." Chip rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I swear the Admiral said something about it being a trap."

"Nah. Kolwalski explained that, sir. Just a misunderstanding."

"I wonder."

"You have a suspicious nature, Commander," Sharkey teased.

"Yes," Chip said, "I do." He walked back to the radio shack. "Sparks, raise the Maldives and ask them to send a ship to meet us. I want these fishermen off _Seaview_ tonight. As soon as that's done, Chief, change course and head at flank speed to the coordinates _Titan_ transmitted. Inform me when we're underway."

"Sir," Sharkey said, "are you sure that's wise? If it is a trap, the Admiral wouldn't want us to fall into it."

"I don't intend to, Chief." Chip turned back to Sparks. "Contact ONI for me, Sparks. I want to talk to Admiral Stark. Tell him it's urgent."


	4. A Conversation in Pain

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 4: A Conversation in Pain**_

After the incident on the bridge, Marcel's men bound Nelson's hands tightly and hustled him below once again. This time, the guards didn't stay in the cabin with him, but merely pushed him through the hatch, secured it, and left.

Nelson lay on his side where he'd fallen. The cold metal of the deck soothed his battered face and he didn't have the energy or inclination to force himself upright. In any case, there was no purpose. He'd played the only card he'd had and failed. That was bad enough, but the cause of his defeat left him stunned: he would have succeeded in warning _Seaview_ if it hadn't been for Kowalski's treachery. From now on, Marcel would be on his guard and Nelson doubted he would have a second chance to deceive him.

Perhaps an hour passed, perhaps two. Nelson drifted in a light, troubled sleep until the cabin's hatch was wrenched open again, admitting Marcel and his ubiquitous guards. As they hauled Nelson onto his knees he braced himself to receive his captor's wrath, but Marcel merely looked down at him appraisingly.

"You're growing quite weak, Admiral," he observed. "That was a foolish attempt on the bridge. You nearly got yourself killed."

Nelson managed a wry smile. "I might still find a way to accomplish that."

"Oh, you can keep plotting," Marcel said, "if you think it's worth it. Some might consider the price too high." He turned to the sailor beside him. "Bring him!"

The guards hauled Nelson to his feet, supporting him on either side. He could have walked without them, but there was no harm in letting Marcel think he was weaker than he truly felt. He imagined he looked terrible, but Nelson knew his hurts were superficial. The cup of water had done a lot to restore him, although he could happily consume three or four more. Even his short, uncomfortable nap had helped. Now, as he was marched down the corridor and sluggish blood circulated freely though his legs once more, Nelson almost felt he could take Marcel if he could get his hands free.

They stopped outside a door labeled "Sailors' Mess." Inside, Nelson could hear the sounds of raucous revelry. He felt Marcel's eyes on him and managed a light tone. "A victory celebration already? Isn't that a little premature?"

"Not at all," Marcel said smoothly, "and it's not a victory celebration. Not yet. It's an informal dinner in your honor." He opened the hatch and, taking Nelson's arm in the friendly manner of two gentlemen walking together, pulled him inside.

Silence fell as they entered. Nelson was sure everyone could hear the hard thumping of his heart as he stopped dead, stunned by the scene before him.

Lee was standing in the center of the room, his bound hands pulled above his head and attached to a sturdy pipe. Blindfolded and stripped to the waist, he was at the mercy of even the lowest sailor in Marcel's crew. Around him, the men had been eating and drinking freely. As Nelson watched, too shocked to speak, a man threw a piece of food at Lee, laughing as it hit him squarely in the chest. The silence was broken and others started laughing and throwing scraps, as well. Nelson closed his eyes, feeling ill. He'd known it was just a matter of time before Marcel tried to use Lee against him, but he hadn't expected his captain to be subjected to a public humiliation like this.

"Come," Marcel said, dragging him to a table directly in front of Crane. "I've saved a place for you where you'll be able to enjoy the show to the fullest." He pushed Nelson down onto a stool. "You'll forgive me if I don't untie you, Admiral. I'm afraid if I do you might interrupt the proceedings. I doubt you have much desire to eat, in any case."

Nelson ignored Marcel as the man filled his own plate, concentrating instead on Lee. The Captain was standing straight, his head raised defiantly, as though he was trying to confront the tormentors he couldn't see. Nelson knew he must be exhausted, but it wasn't apparent from his stance.

Nelson scanned the room, his eyes falling on Kowalski, who was quietly eating a sandwich in the corner. He was concentrating on his dinner, ignoring both the Admiral and the Captain. Nelson's expression hardened as he watched him.

"Do you enjoy the study of history, Admiral?" Marcel asked between bites. "I've always been fascinated by tales from the golden age of sailing vessels. Can you imagine being a captain in those days?" He chuckled. "Such rough crews! Discipline would have been quite an issue. It's fortunate things are much different now, isn't it? Still, I find myself wondering what it would have been like, don't you?"

"No," Nelson said shortly. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking at all.

"Surely you have some curiosity? For example, I've read a man could die after receiving only fifty lashes, but I'm dubious. Of course, I suppose it depended on the strength of the man. What do you think?"

"Marcel," Nelson said quietly and deliberately, "so help me, I'll rip you apart with my own hands…"

"Ah, but your hands are tied, aren't they, Admiral? Both literally and figuratively." Laughing, he crossed the room. The sailors fell silent again as he passed. Kowalski looked up from his plate.

"I had this specially made over a year ago," Marcel said, picking up a whip with many thongs. "It's an exact replica of an eighteenth century cat o' nine tails, or so they told me." It whistled as he swung it through the air and Crane flinched. Nelson didn't know how much of Marcel's conversation Lee had caught, but he knew he'd heard the last sentence. "Amazing, isn't it?" He spun around, surveying his men. "Who would like to demonstrate? Any volunteers?"

"I'll do it." Kowalski put down his sandwich. Crane's head snapped in the direction of his voice.

"Really?" An expression of incredulous joy crossed Marcel's face. This was better than he'd imagined.

"Sure," Kowalski shrugged, "if you'll pay me extra. He owes me for some pain and suffering."

"Oh, you'll be rewarded. You'll be handsomely rewarded!" Marcel approached Crane and yanked the blindfold from his eyes. "I think the Captain would like to see you and, more importantly, I'd like to see him."

Crane blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. His gaze fell on Nelson and the Admiral saw him start as he took in his condition. Slowly he pulled his eyes away and turned toward Kowalski, who stood beside him, the whip held loosely in his hand. "Why are you doing this?" Lee had trouble getting the words out. Nelson wasn't sure if it was thirst or emotion that thickened his tongue.

"Do you remember what you did on Wrangel Island?" Kowalski's voice shook. "Remember, Skipper? I asked you for pity, didn't I? Do you remember what you said?"

"Ski…" Crane began, looking at him sharply. He was cut off as Kowalski dealt him a fierce backhanded blow. Crane dropped his head, panting.

"Shut up and listen! You're always the one giving orders, but I'm in charge now, understand? I told you once I'd pay you back for what you did, but you just laughed at me." He grabbed Lee's hair and yanked his head up. "You understand what's coming, don't you?"

Lee nodded slowly and it seemed to Nelson, following this exchange in disbelief, that all the strength drained out of him.

"Do you deserve it, Skipper? Yes or no?"

Nelson couldn't breathe. Watching Lee's pale, strained face, he waited for him to deny it, to tell Kowalski to go to hell.

"Yes," Lee said, so softly Nelson had to strain to hear. "Yes, I deserve it." He raised his eyes for the briefest moment, then dropped them as he met Kowalski's uncompromising gaze.

Nelson's reserve crumbled despite his intention not to give Marcel the satisfaction. "For God's sake, Lee," he shouted, "don't do this! You've got to hold on and keep fighting! You can't give in! Don't let him break you!"

"Gag him," Marcel instructed. Nelson was cut off as a sailor wrenched his head to the side and shoved a cloth between his teeth. "Get on with it," Marcel ordered.

Kowalski stepped behind Lee and shook out the whip. Then he drew his arm back and struck. Nelson didn't know which was worse, the hollow impact of the thongs against Lee's skin or the anguish on his friend's face. The whip fell again and sweat broke out from every pore in Lee's body. The Captain's eyes were screwed shut, his jaw rigid as he ground his teeth together.

After three more strokes, Kowalski paused and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. Lee hung loosely in his bonds, trembling. Kowalski circled in front of him. "Enjoying yourself, Skipper?" When Lee didn't respond, he prodded him in the ribs. "Look at me!"

Slowly, Crane forced his eyes open. Kowalski grinned and cupped his free hand around the back of the Captain's neck in a comradely manner. "I asked you a question and you haven't answered yet. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes." The word was ragged, twisted. With effort, Crane found his footing again and pulled himself upright.

Nelson twisted his wrists desperately, straining to free his hands. He had no idea if Lee could survive fifty lashes even at his strongest, but it was horrible to watch him struggle along with a broken spirit.

At a gesture from Marcel, Kowalski released Lee's neck, giving his head a playful cuff. The lash fell again, high across Crane's shoulders. Nelson couldn't see how much damage it was causing, but he had no doubt of the intensity of the pain it delivered. Another stroke fell, then another. Lee's chest heaved as he tried to control his anguish.

"It's no use," Kowalski grunted. "You're going to scream sooner or later. You officers are so strong, so tough, but even an ordinary crewman like me can make you bawl like a baby before you pass out." He landed another hard stroke and Crane's body jerked. At the next, a cry broke from Lee's throat. His head lolled forward.

Marcel signaled for Kowalski to pause. "We can't have you leaving us after only ten lashes, Captain," he said.

"I can get him back for you," Kowalski said. He crossed to the table where he'd been eating and returned with his water glass. "We only had one canteen on Wrangel Island, didn't we, Skipper? We were supposed to share it, but you didn't, did you?" He slapped Crane sharply. "Thirsty? Beg me for water!"

"Please," Lee voice barely sounded like his own, "please give me water."

"OK, pig, drink!" Grabbing Crane's jaw, Kowalski thrust the glass against his lips and poured the contents into his mouth. "You'd better swallow fast or you'll drown! Drink it all, you selfish bastard!" Crane throat spasmed as he tried to keep up with the relentless stream forced upon him, but he managed to swallow it. Kowalski released him and Lee coughed uncontrollably. Tears forced from his eyes ran freely down his cheeks.

"I think," Marcel said to Nelson in a conversational tone, "men of the sea must have been heartier in the old days. Your captain is very disappointing."

Nelson didn't even spare him a glance. Concern for Lee was all consuming. He didn't know what had happened between the Crane and Kowalski on the Wrangel Island mission and, frankly, he didn't much care. All that mattered was the man he loved as a son was falling apart in front of him and there was nothing he could do to help.

Kowalski was standing back, watching with his hands on his hips as Lee tried to master himself. Around them, Marcel's sailors laughed and mocked. Unbidden, the image of Crane on the first day he took command of _Seaview_ rose in Nelson's mind: an eager, young officer in a spotless uniform, standing ramrod straight, exuding a quiet confidence. It was hard to say which of them had been the proudest. Suddenly, Nelson wondered if he'd ever let Lee know how he'd felt. He'd just assumed his captain understood.

He'd accepted the fact Lee might be killed one day. Their work was dangerous, there was no denying that. But Nelson had never considered that Lee would die a broken puppet in a megalomanic's hands, or that his own trusted man would turn against him. This he couldn't—wouldn't—accept.

"Begin again," Marcel ordered. Kowalski took his place behind Crane. Lee stiffened as he braced himself for another onslaught. The first blow knocked him off his feet and this time he was unable to stand again before the second blow fell. He gave a strangled cry as he twisted in his bonds. Nelson jumped to his feet, only to be pushed down by the sailors on either side of him.

Three more strokes fell in quick succession. Lee's eyes were glassy, unseeing, and he struggled to hold his head up. At the next blow, he crumpled completely, all tension released from his abused body.

"Wake him up," Marcel snapped.

Kowalski slapped Crane's face but there was no response. He picked up a bottle of beer and emptied it over the Captain's head to the amusement of the onlookers, but Crane didn't stir. "I can't," he said. "He's really out."

"Nonsense! At only sixteen lashes?" Marcel jumped to his feet and approached his prisoner. He punched Lee hard in the jaw, enough to make the limp head snap to the side, but still there was no response. "I suppose you're right," he said to Kowalski. "Pity. I'd hoped to entertain the Admiral a bit longer."

"Take him down," he ordered, "and put him back to his cabin." He turned to Nelson. "Don't think this is over. The _Seaview_ won't reach us for at least a day." He smiled. "I think Captain Crane will find that a lot can happen in that time."


	5. He may never be the same

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_Thanks to everyone for your encouraging comments. I hope you're enjoying the story. Happy New Year to everyone!_

_**Chapter 5: "He may never be the same…"**_

Even though it was quiet in Nelson's cabin and he was beyond exhaustion, it was impossible to sleep. Propped against the wall with his bound hands behind him, he wept in the darkness. If Marcel had arrived during the still hours of the night, he would have met a gratifying scene. Nelson knew that the next morning he'd have to show a tough, resolved face to his captor. He could do it. He had to. But tonight, where his tormentors couldn't see, he indulged in the luxury of tears.

He hoped—prayed—Marcel would leave Lee alone for at least a few hours. Maybe after a little rest the Captain would be more himself. Nelson couldn't really believe it, though. Crane was broken by Kowalski's treachery or some hidden shame, and that couldn't be fixed so easily.

He wiped his face vigorously against his shoulder when he heard the sound of the hatch opening. Nelson hadn't expected Marcel to be back so soon, but he'd be damned if he'd let the bastard catch him crying.

Using the wall for leverage, he pushed himself to his feet, determined to meet his enemy face to face. He was surprised, however, when the door opened slowly and no guards appeared. Instead, the beam of a flashlight swept the walls, pinning him in its glare. "Harry?" Jamie's voice was soft and urgent.

"Over here." Nelson squinted against the intensity of the light as the doctor quickly entered and closed the hatch behind him. "How did you get free?"

"Kowalski let me out and told me where you were."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Nelson snorted. "I wonder if this is another of Marcel's sick games."

Jamie studied Nelson worriedly, taking in his red-rimmed eyes, disheveled clothes, and pinioned arms. "Did they hurt you?"

Nelson gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Jamie…." He drew a steadying breath. "No, I'm all right, or will be when you untie me."

It only took a few moments for Jamie to work the rope free. Nelson flung it aside in disgust and flexed his fingers. "We need to find Lee, then I have a debt to settle with Marcel."

Jamie shook his head. "Kowalski's getting the Skipper. He told me to free you and meet him at the flying sub."

"So Kowalski's giving orders now?" Nelson growled. "What the hell is he thinking? He was torturing Lee only a few hours ago." He shook his head. "I can't trust him, Jamie. He's not in his right mind."

"I agree," Jamie admitted, "but he knows where Lee is and we don't. Unless we want to bring the whole ship down on us, I think we should do as he says." He paused, then asked incredulously, "Did you say he tortured Lee?"

"You'll see for yourself soon enough," Nelson said wearily, "assuming he meets us. I'll wait five minutes at the flying sub. After that, I'm going to find Lee myself."

Jamie nodded. "Agreed."

Together, they warily made their way onto the deck and to the rail where they had come aboard. In the moonlight, Nelson could see the FS-1 bobbing below them. "Where are the guards?" he muttered.

"Here," Jamie said. He pulled back a tarp to reveal two men lying in a crumpled heap. "I saw this one's foot sticking out."

"Are they dead?"

Jamie shook his head. "Unconscious." He spread the tarp back over them. "I think they'll be all right."

Carefully, Nelson climbed down the ladder, Jamie right behind him. He went slowly, afraid of slipping in the darkness. They'd come so close and he was painfully aware that a mistake now could ruin everything. His foot slid as he stepped onto the flying sub, taking him to his knees. Nelson bit his lip as the impact sent a tremor all the way up his spine. He crawled to the hatch and was about to enter and check the systems when a sound above told him they weren't alone.

A dark shape was making its way down the ladder. Large and clumsy, the figure swayed and for a moment Nelson thought it must fall. Then it regained its balance and continued on. Nelson pushed himself to his feet and moved stealthily to the base of the ladder. He hoped it was Kowalski and Lee but, if not, he'd be ready. He motioned to Jamie to stay silent and move out of the way.

Labored breathing filled the air as the figure reached the bottom of the ladder. In the dim light, Nelson could see Kowalski's strained face and the white splash of Lee's back, thrown across his shoulder in a fireman's carry. All else was hidden in the darkness.

"Admiral?" Kowalski's voice was low and tired. "Doc? You here?"

"We're here." Nelson stepped forward. "Give me the Captain." He couldn't get Lee out of Kowalski's hands fast enough. "Doc, I need you."

"I'll get his shoulders," Jamie said. "You take his legs. Let's get him below." Together they swiftly carried Lee into the flying sub. As Jamie started to examine his unconscious patient, Nelson turned to find that Kowalski had followed them down.

"You'd better get back to your new friends as fast as you can," he said gruffly.

"Please," Kowalski tore his eyes away from Crane's still form, but he couldn't look at the Admiral. He studied a section of deck at Nelson's feet. "Please let me come with you."

Nelson wanted to shout, to strike the man who'd caused so much trouble and pain, but it was impossible. Kowalski had freed them and brought Lee to him. Nelson's fist unclenched and he made a hopeless gesture. "If you return with us, you'll face a lengthy prison sentence. Probably years. You'll be better off here."

"Before or after Marcel finds out I let you go? Or you warn the Navy and they attack _Titan_?" Kowalski swallowed hard. "Prison's OK with me, sir, but I can't go back."

"Oh, very well," Nelson snapped. He took a pistol out of the arms cabinet and gestured to the co-pilot's seat. "Sit there and be still! If you move a muscle, I'll shoot."

Nelson flung himself into the pilot's seat and flipped on the controls. The flying sub ripped its mooring lines and was airborne before Marcel and his men ever realized it was gone.

X X X X

As soon as they were safely away, Nelson turned on the radio. "FS-1 to _Seaview_. FS-1 to _Seaview_. _Seaview_, do you copy?"

"FS-1, this is _Seaview_. We read you, Admiral."

Despite his weariness and the lingering horror of the past day, Nelson's face broke into a genuine smile at the sound of the radio operator's voice. "Sparks, is Commander Morton in the control room?"

"Negative, sir. Please hold while I get him." Nelson felt a brief flash of annoyance, then remembered it was probably about 03:00. Even Morton had to sleep sometime.

"I'll stand by." He glanced at Kowalski and was startled to see the man had fallen asleep. Nelson shook his head, disgusted.

"Admiral, Morton here."

"Thank God, Chip," Nelson said fervently. "Now listen, where are you? We were held captive on _Titan_ and have only just escaped. Send your coordinates and notify the Navy that _Titan's_ been taken over by hostile forces. I'll give them more details when we've docked. Understand?"

"Aye, sir. I was concerned you might be in trouble. Your last transmission was a bit odd. Are you all right?"

"Lee's hurt, but Doc's working on him. The rest of us are fine." He spared Kowalski another glance. "Listen, Chip: have Chief Sharkey meet us when we dock. I have a job for him."

"Will do." There was a pause. "Sir, is Lee badly injured?"

Nelson shook his head. "I don't know, Chip. I just don't know. Nelson out." He put the mic down and set his course based on the coordinates coming in from _Seaview_. In the co-pilot's seat, Kowalski was sleeping fitfully. "Doc," Nelson spared a glance over his shoulder, "come here when you can. There's something you need to know."

"I can come now," Jamie said. He leaned over Nelson's shoulder. "Lee's back is a mess, but his vitals all seem good. I'll know more when I get him back to sickbay and can treat him properly, but I think he should make a full recovery."

"I wish I were as certain," Nelson said bleakly.

"What do you mean?"

"When Kowalski started threatening Lee, he just broke. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't witnessed it. Lee's tough, Jamie," Nelson said angrily. "He's damn tough. I don't know what happened. Marcel must have brainwashed Kowalski somehow. He kept talking about Wrangel Island while he was torturing Lee."

"They both came back hurt from that mission," Jamie mused. "Kowalski's leg was broken and the Captain had been shot in the arm. Kowalski had nightmares and headaches for a while. I had to give him sedatives to help him sleep. He came to me on _Titan_ and said the headaches and dreams were back."

"Why wasn't I informed about his mental condition after the mission?" Nelson snapped.

"The Captain didn't want anyone to know about Kowalski's problems unless they worsened. They seemed to improve, so I honored Lee's request. He's very protective of Kowalski."

"If he'd gotten proper psychological treatment instead of you two sweeping the problem under the carpet, maybe this wouldn't have happened!"

"That could be true." Jamie looked worried. "I'm afraid we may have two patients with mental issues on our hands now. I can heal Lee's body, Harry, but if he's suffered a complete breakdown, he may never be the same. I can't clear him for duty if he's unstable."

"I know." Nelson looked at Kowalski. He slept lightly, his features twisted as if in pain. "I don't know what happened on Wrangel Island but, by God, I intend to find out!"

X X X X

Jamie conducted Lee to sickbay as soon as the flying sub docked. He draped a blanket over the captain so the crew wouldn't know the details of the injuries he'd suffered. Aware of how fragile Lee's mental state was, the last thing Jamie wanted to do was add to his humiliation. Nelson sent him off with instructions to call him as soon as Crane awakened.

Sharkey watched anxiously, clearly disturbed by the condition of both the Captain and Admiral. Nelson turned to him as soon as Jamie was gone. "Chief, I want you to bring Kowalski to my cabin in an hour. He's under arrest for willfully injuring Captain Crane. Take him to his quarters and stay with him. Under no circumstance should you leave him alone. His mental state is uncertain, so be on your guard."

"Yes, sir," Sharkey said, "but _injure the Skipper_? Kowalski couldn't do that, sir. Not in a million years. I can't believe it!"

"Believe it," Nelson said drily, "and take the proper precautions." He watched as Sharkey led Kowalski away, then headed for his cabin. His whole body ached and he felt he'd be able to face his interview with Kowalski better after a hot shower and a cup of coffee, but first he'd have to talk to Chip and make sure the Navy was alerted to Marcel's plans.

X X X X

"Come in!"

Sharkey opened the door and ushered Kowalski into the Admiral's cabin. He stood nervously in the doorway, dressed again in the red jumpsuit of a crewman on _Seaview_. But he wouldn't be a crewman much longer, Nelson thought. He'd be turned over to the authorities as soon as they reached Santa Barbara. Even if he avoided prison by pleading mental illness, Kowalski would never return to the submarine. The Admiral couldn't imagine subjecting Lee to his presence and making him experience afresh the humiliation and betrayal he'd felt on the _Titan_.

Keeping his emotions in check, Nelson addressed Kowalski sternly. "Sit." He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear what Lee had done to make Kowalski so resentful, but he needed to know. "I expect an explanation for your actions. I could perhaps forgive you for joining our captor's crew. Marcel was clever and you may have felt you had no choice. But," his face darkened, "I can't forgive you for torturing the Captain. That was a completely egregious, unnecessary cruelty. Marcel didn't ask it of you. You volunteered and I want to know why. Maybe you were exhausted or confused, but still …"

"I was tired," Kowalski admitted, "but I was never confused."

"Then what?" Nelson snapped. "Captain Crane is an honorable man, a good man, and he trusted you. He's capable of mistakes just like any of us, but what could he possibly have done on the Wrangel Island mission to make you think that kind of revenge was justified?"

Kowalski's face paled. His hands clenched so tightly the knuckles showed white. "I thought you knew," he breathed. "I thought he'd told you."

"Told me what?"

"On Wrangel Island, the Skipper saved my life."

"And you repaid him by torturing him?" Sharkey exclaimed indignantly. "You son of a bitch!"

"Wait," Nelson said. He studied Kowalski's haggard face. There was no madness or anger in the man's eyes, only a profound sadness. He thought back to the scene on _Titan_. What exactly had happened, and what had he _thought_ had happened? "I think you'd better explain."

"Yes, sir." Kowalski swallowed hard. "You remember the Skipper got shot on the Wrangel Island mission? We managed to get out of the PR bunker, but it was night and we were running hard. I fell off a ledge and broke my leg." He ran his tongue over his dry lips. "It was a bad brake, sir. You remember?"

Nelson nodded. "You were both in pretty bad shape when you got back, as I recall."

"It was cold. I don't think I've ever been that cold." Kowalski shivered at the memory. "The Skipper couldn't carry me. He tried. Even with blood running down his arm, he tried. We found shelter behind some rocks and the Skipper said he'd make for the rendezvous point and come back with help. I knew it was the only thing he could do, but I didn't think I'd last until he got back. I was hurting so bad. I shouldn't have begged him to stay with me, but I didn't want to die alone. Can you understand that, sir?"

"Yes," Nelson said, "yes, I can understand."

Kowalski looked embarrassed, but also relieved to finally share the shame and fear he'd felt. The Admiral's expression was neutral, showing no condemnation. It gave him the strength to continue. "I begged him to have pity on me, and do you know what he said? He took my face in his hands and I'd never seen such pain in a man's eyes. He said, 'If I have pity on you, you'll die. But if I'm pitiless and do what I must, I swear I'll get you home.'" Kowalski sighed. "And he did. When we were both better, I thanked him for saving my life and promised him I'd pay him back someday." He smiled faintly, remembering. "The Skipper laughed and said he hoped he wouldn't need to take me up on my offer."

"But he did," Nelson said softly.

"Aye, sir. He did." Kowalski fell silent.

"Chief," Nelson said, "I think Kowalski could use some coffee."

Wordlessly, Sharkey poured a cup and set it on the desk. Kowalski took a grateful swallow. The coffee was black and bitter, so hot it scalded his tongue. He'd never tasted any better. It burned like the truth, all the way down to his gut.

"The Skipper made a tough choice on Wrangel Island. I guess that's what being a officer means, right? Having to make the tough decisions? When Marcel offered me the chance to join him, I had to decide. I knew what you and the Skipper would think of me for turning traitor, but it was the only chance I could see to get us home. That bastard Marcel told me all kinds of crap to make me think he was a great guy, but I suspected you and the Skipper were in a pretty bad way."

"What did he tell you?"

"Oh," Kowalski waved a hand dismissively, "he said he'd been treating you both well, feeding you, and stuff. That he'd threatened to kill me and that hadn't worried you or the Skipper, but you'd attacked him when he'd said he'd kill you instead."

Nelson shook his head, disbelief plainly written on his face. "Kowalski, I swear that wasn't true. None of it was true."

"I know, Admiral. I didn't believe it from the start, but when I saw you together on the bridge I was sure it was all a lie. If you'd really attacked Marcel, he'd at least have had a black eye."

Nelson gave a snort of laughter.

Kowalski smiled faintly. "You were the only one who was hurt, sir, and you looked about done in. That hadn't come from one fight. And when he gave you that cup of water, I could tell it was the first thing you'd had to drink since we were captured."

"You undid my effort to warn Mr. Morton."

"Sorry, sir. I thought Marcel would kill you if he realized he'd never get his hands on _Seaview_. I felt sure I could get us out and back home before Mr. Morton arrived." His face darkened. "I got Doc to give me some sedative pills like the ones I took when I got back from Wrangel Island. I was going to slip them to the guards. It should have all gone OK, but I hadn't figured on that bastard going after the Skipper like he did."

"I wasn't going to let them put their damn hands on him," Kowalski said with passion. "I changed my plan when I saw what Marcel had in mind and put a double dose of Doc's medicine in my water glass. Then I volunteered to beat the Skipper." He shook his head. "He didn't understand. I could see he was so tired and he didn't know what I was thinking. I had to explain to him fast in some way Marcel couldn't follow. So I reminded him about Wrangel Island."

"Do you mean to say," Nelson asked incredulously, "that all your taunts and the Captain's answers were actually a coded conversation?"

"Oh, yes, sir. We were communicating the whole time. Sometimes in words, sometimes just in gestures. The Skipper and I understand each other pretty well. He can shoot me a glance in the control room and I know what he wants without him having to say."

"I see," Nelson said faintly. "You'd better go on."

"Well, the Skipper understood when I mentioned Wrangel, all right. He looked at me so meaningfully I was afraid he'd give everything away. So I slugged him real fast and that gave him time to pull his thoughts together. He didn't mess up again," Kowalski said proudly. "He knew I intended to get him out of there, but I wanted to make sure he realized I couldn't do it right away, not in time to save him from the flogging. When he confirmed he understood, I asked him for his orders."

"His orders?" The idea of Lee issuing orders, bound and helpless, was amazing. "I don't remember you asking him for any orders."

"I asked him if he deserved what was coming. If he'd been defiant—told me he didn't, or spit in my face, or something—I'd have known he was too nervous and wanted out right then, without waiting for me to try my plan. If that's what he'd done, I guess I would have cut him down and attacked Marcel then and there, but it probably wouldn't have worked. We were too outnumbered." Kowalski shook his head. "It was a lot to ask of the Skipper, to take that beating. Neither of us knew what to expect. But he trusted me that much, Admiral." Kowalski's eyes filled with tears. "He trusted me that much, even though he didn't know what I had in mind or if he'd have to make it through all fifty lashes."

"I thought you'd broken him," Nelson said wonderingly.

Kowalski's expression was scornful. "You can't break the Skipper with a few insults and the threat of some blows!"

"No. No, of course you can't," Nelson said, amazed he hadn't realized it before. "I suppose I was frightened for Lee and projected my fear onto him."

"Well, I was scared," Kowalski said. "After the first couple of lashes, I realized it was worse than either of us expected. A real flogging isn't like in the movies, all heroic and stuff, is it?

"No. It's not." The memory of Lee's anguished face rose in Nelson's mind. That was not acting, whatever else might have been.

"I stopped to check on the Skipper as soon as I dared. I wanted to get a good look at his face, to judge how he was really doing. I could tell he was hurting a lot, but his eyes were calm, unpanicked. I asked if he was OK and he said he was. Then that bastard made me start again." Kowalski took a sip of coffee and gathered his thoughts. "I wanted to get Doc's medicine into him and knock him out as soon as possible, but the Skipper was being too strong. I needed a reason to give him water and I wanted Marcel to think he was weakening, so I asked him to scream and pretend to pass out. He waited just long enough to keep Marcel from being suspicious, then did what I said."

"Incredible," Sharkey said.

"Yeah," Kowalski agreed. He shook his head. "Giving him the water was the worst," he said softly, "even worse than whipping him. We only had one canteen on Wrangel Island. Mine got lost when I fell. There wasn't much left in his and the Skipper had a long way to walk, but he wouldn't drink any of it. I wanted to divide it between us, but he wouldn't take a sip. He held my head so gently and made me drink it all." Kowalski's eyes misted again. "I reminded him of that. He was in so much pain and I wanted him to know I remembered what he did for me, even if I couldn't be as kind. He didn't know why I was forcing so much water on him, but he knew I needed him to swallow it, so he did."

"I can't believe he kept it down," Nelson said, remembering the cruelty of the scene.

"I couldn't either, sir, but the Skipper's got a lot of self-control." Kowalski sighed. "After that, I didn't ask anything else of him. It was just a matter of him holding on until the medicine knocked him out. I was pretty damned relieved when it did. Then I waited until Marcel and most of the men went to sleep, knocked out the guards, and let the Doc out." He looked at his hands, curled loosely into fists on the desk. "I guess you know the rest, sir."

"Kowalski," Nelson said with surprising gentleness.

Kowalski looked up. The Admiral was watching him appraisingly. "If what you've told me is true, then I owe you an apology."

Kowalski shook his head. "I just want to see the Skipper, sir. Even though he agreed to go along with my plan, I'm worried he'll be angry."

"Why?"

"I don't know—that I didn't get him out sooner or find a different way. I don't know. I'm just worried about him."

"I'm worried about him, too," Nelson said. "For now, though, I want you to go and rest. Sharkey, stay with him and don't say a word about any of this to anyone, understand?" The Admiral leaned forward and grasped Kowalski's arm. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you yet. I need to talk with Lee and see if he corroborates your story. Then I'll decide what to do next. For now, all we can do is wait for him to wake up."


	6. Awakening

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 6: Awakening**_

Tired as he was, Nelson's step was lighter as he made his way to sickbay. Before his interview with Kowalski, he'd been afraid Lee would awaken to self-loathing and despair. He'd dreaded the thought of facing his broken, dispirited captain, although he'd been determined to be there for him, no matter what. Dealing with Lee's injuries and helping him through whatever residual fear or pain he might experience seemed less overwhelming now. Nelson was anxious to tell his captain how proud he was of his fortitude and quick thinking under pressure.

He entered just as the doctor was removing an IV line from a port on Crane's hand. The captain lay on his stomach on the examination table, his back and wrists swathed in bandages. A blanket covered him from the waist down, and Jamie had buckled a restraint across his legs to keep him from rolling off the table if he awoke suddenly or the _Seaview_ encountered turbulent waters.

"Harry, I'm so glad you're here," the doctor said, looking up worriedly.

Nelson felt a cold tendril wind itself around his heart as all his anxieties reasserted themselves at once. "What is it? What's wrong? Did you find other injuries?"

Jamieson saw the shadowed fear in the Admiral's eyes. "No," he said firmly, wanting to stop that line of speculation immediately. "No, Lee's fine except for his back and a couple of bruises on his face here…" he gently brushed Lee's cheekbone.

"That was Kowalski," Nelson said.

"… and here." He indicated a swollen area on the captain's jaw, hidden in the stubble of Lee's beard.

"That was Marcel." Nelson searched Jamie's face. "You're sure that's all? I don't know what happened to him during the first day we were prisoners, or after they cut him down."

"That's all, Harry. Trust me, I wouldn't hold anything back. In fact, that's what's got me worried."

"You're worried because Lee's injuries aren't more extensive?" Nelson asked incredulously.

"I'm worried," Jamie said, "because I can't find any medical reason for him to be unconscious this long. He's been out for hours and there's no injury I can find to account for it. He didn't even stir when I cleaned his back. I'm going to do some scans and blood work…" he was cut off as Nelson chuckled. "What is it?"

"Save the tests," the Admiral said. "Lee's unconscious because Kowalski gave him those sedative pills he got from you."

"Oh, God, of course!" Jamie's expression cleared for a moment, only to be replaced by one of renewed concern. "How many did he give him?"

"He said a double dose."

Jamie calculated quickly. "That would be four pills. Kowalski's a bit heavier than the Skipper…." He relaxed, his face breaking into a smile. "It should be OK. Four pills is an overdose, but I doubt it's enough to be dangerous. Lee's heart rate and blood pressure have been stable this long, so I don't think they're going to drop now."

"What were you giving him?" Nelson asked, gesturing to the IV.

"I was running some fluids and antibiotics."

"Nothing for pain?"

"Well," Jamie said, rubbing his jaw, "I'm not sure what to do about that yet. If the Skipper's broken, as you say, it might be best to keep him sedated until we get back to Santa Barbara."

Nelson shook his head, smiling. "I think you'll find," he said, "that a bottle of aspirin will suffice." At Jamie's quizzical look, he explained, "According to Kowalski, the two of them put on quite a show on _Titan_." He quickly recounted the story.

"Do you believe that's what happened?" Jamie asked when he finished.

"I want to," Nelson confessed. "I have to admit, Kowalski's version makes more sense than the alternative."

"That wasn't stage blood I washed off the captain's back."

"No, it wasn't." The Admiral hooked a stool with his foot and pulled it beside the examination table. "I'll stay with Lee until he wakes up. I can't rest until I know for sure." A soft groan escaped his lips as he sank down on the hard metal seat, his tired muscles protesting.

"You should be in bed yourself," Jamie said sternly, "but I know it's useless to suggest it." He sighed. "What time did Kowalski give him the medicine?"

"Probably around 19:00, give or take an hour or so." Nelson yawned. "I tried to keep track of the time while we were captured, but it was hard to calculate after Marcel stopped paying me his hourly visits."

"That's been almost twelve hours," Jamie said, looking at his watch. "Lee should wake up pretty soon."

Nelson nodded wordlessly. Leaning forward, he crossed his arms on the table beside Crane's head and gingerly rested his cheek on top of them. Seeing him wince, Jamie said, "I wish I could prescribe some cortisone for the swelling in your face, but I think we both know better than to give you steroids."

"I'll be fine." Nelson waved him away. He studied Crane's quiet countenance and amended the statement. "We'll be fine." The captain's features were slack, his hand loosely curled on the pillow beside his face. Even with two days growth of beard, Lee looked very young. Nelson glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jamie had withdrawn, then tentatively reached out and wrapped his hand around the captain's.

He didn't know how long he stayed that way, propped on the examination table, lost in a light sleep. Nelson woke when Lee's hand moved restlessly beneath his, fingers twisting the sheets. Instantly, as if a claxon had sounded, the Admiral was fully awake. Lee's face shone with sweat; his breathing was heavy with pain.

"Lee? Lee, take it easy." He brushed damp hair back from Crane's forehead. "You're home."

The captain's eyes fluttered open and Nelson found himself holding his breath as Lee took in the familiar landscape of sickbay. The hum of the submarine's engines reverberated distantly. "_Seaview_," he whispered.

"Yes."

He waited anxiously, watching memories of the past day play across Crane's face. Then Lee smiled a genuine, relieved smile, and Nelson felt something hard in his chest release. The question he'd been waiting to ask became unnecessary, redundant, because he already knew the answer.

"Am I all right?" Lee's voice was curious, unworried. He could have been requesting a damage report on _Seaview_. Nelson knew he was wondering what had happened while he was unconscious and why he hurt so much.

"You're better than all right," Jamie said from the doorway. "In fact, I'd say you're damn lucky." The doctor crossed the room and gently laid his hand against Lee's throat, checking his pulse. "That doesn't mean you aren't going to be uncomfortable for a while, though. Your back is badly abraided and it's going to be painful as it heals. There's not a square inch of skin that's untouched, but fortunately none of the cuts are too deep. I only had to put in a few stitches."

"What about you?" Lee asked, raising his head and looking from the doctor to the Admiral. "Are you two all right? And Kowalski?"

"We're fine," Nelson said, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "Kowalski's upset, as you'd imagine. Do you feel like seeing him? I think it would allay his concerns."

"Yes, absolutely. Can you help me up?" Crane ground his teeth together as he tried to raise himself on his elbows. The movement sent spikes of fire up and down his spine.

"Go slowly," Jamie instructed, unbuckling the restraint from Lee's legs. "I'll get you something for the pain. I should have attended to it earlier, but Kowalski drugged you pretty heavily. I wanted to judge your physical and emotional condition before medicating you again."

As intense as the pain in his back was, Crane found the weakness in his limbs more troubling as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms and legs refused to cooperate. His head swam and he leaned heavily against Jamie, dizziness and nausea pressing in on him. Dimly, he could hear the Admiral on the intercom, requesting Sharkey's and Kowalski's presence in sickbay. Then a buzzing grew in his ears, blocking out Nelson's voice.

"Admiral, can you give me a hand here?" Jamie asked. "I think the Skipper's about to faint."

"I've got him." Chip entered sickbay just at that moment and quickly braced Crane's other side. "Put you head down, Lee," he ordered. "We won't let you fall off the table."

Lee leaned forward, feeling the blood surge back into his face. Someone laid a cool compress on the back of his neck. "Chip?"

"Right here. You've had me worried. Feeling better?"

"Not yet," he said truthfully. "Give me a little longer." He was still fighting to bring the nausea under control and beat back the darkness that swirled at the edge of his vision.

"I think we should get a little food into you before I give you any medicine," Jamie said. "I don't think you can keep down more drugs on an empty stomach." He turned at the sound of footsteps at the door. "Oh, good. Here's the Chief and Kowalski, and they brought some broth."

"The Admiral suggested it," Sharkey said. "I brought a cup for him, too."

"I didn't suggest that part," Nelson said.

"You're going to drink it just the same," Jamie said, taking the mug from Sharkey and passing it to him. "You haven't eaten in a couple of days, either. Despite what you think, you can't survive on coffee and adrenaline. I don't want you to end up in here with the captain!"

Grumbling, Nelson took a small sip.

"Your turn, Skipper," Jamie said cheerfully. "Trust me: if you can keep it down, it'll make you feel better."

Crane shook his head. Dizzy and in pain, the last thing he wanted to do was lose control and be ill in front of everyone. He knew they wouldn't think less of him, but he was weary of humiliation. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?

"Skipper?" A low voice intruded on his thoughts. He felt someone sit down beside him on the table. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, careful of his wounds. "Skipper, here's the mug. I'm putting it in your hand." Crane felt the warm weight of it settle in his palm. "I've got it, too, don't worry. I won't let it spill. I'm lifting it to your lips, OK, Skipper? Just take a little drink for the doc."

"Ski." Crane raised his head and met Kowalski's eyes. The crewman's expression was remorseful, but his voice was steady and optimistic. Crane knew he was remembering, just as he was. But he wasn't just recalling the recent horrors of _Titan_ and all the misery that had passed between them. He was remembering Wrangel Island, a promise made to ward off despair, and the canteen with only enough water for one.

"I need you to drink a little, Skipper, got it? I won't give you too much, I promise."

Crane nodded and took a small sip. He couldn't turn away from Kowalski or deny his help. Acceptance was forgiveness, a boon Kowalski desperately needed to receive.

"Well, I'll be," Chip said. "I wish I had the trick of getting him to do what I say."

"It comes at a high price," Nelson said. He watched in approval as Crane took another sip and the color started to return to his pale face. Kowalski spoke soft encouragements and gradually the mug was drained. To Nelson, it seemed Lee was visibly stronger and more alert, although his eyes were still dark with pain.

"Here," Jamie said, handing Lee two pills. He smiled at the Admiral. "The aspirin you suggested."

"I was only being facetious," Nelson protested. "Surely he needs more than that."

"Aspirin with codeine," Jamie added.

"When can I go back on duty?" Lee asked, gratefully swallowing the medicine.

The doctor sighed. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask. Those pills will probably make you sleep most the day. If you're better in the morning, I think I'll be able to release you from sickbay, conditionally."

"Conditionally?"

"If the pain is manageable without narcotics. Even so, you're going to need some extra help for a while. Dressing, applying salve and bandaging your back after you shower, making sure you're not over-exerting—these are all areas where you'll need assistance. If you'll consent to having a crewman assigned to you 24/7 for a few days, I think I'll feel comfortable releasing you."

Crane frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a nursemaid, but he was anxious to get back to normal as soon as possible. Jamie was probably right. He could tell his injuries couldn't be shaken off overnight. "OK," he agreed. "Can you put up with me for a few days, Ski?"

"Me?" Kowalski asked, plainly startled. "Wouldn't you rather have Patterson, or one of the others….?"

"I'd prefer you, if you'll do it," Crane said softly. "You've seen the worst and stuck with me though it."

"Good, then it's settled," Nelson said. "You need rest, Lee, and for us to clear out and leave you alone. We'll talk more later."

As Lee made his way to a bunk supported by Chip and Sharkey, he said, "I just have one more question and I hope I'll get an honest answer." He affixed them all with a hard look. "Why does my hair smell like beer?"

Kowalski reddened. "I'm sorry, Skipper. I poured a bottle on your head back on _Titan_."

"For God's sake, Ski," Lee said plaintively, "why?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Morton snorted. "Admit it: you've wanted to do that for a while and grabbed the opportunity when it presented itself."

"I've often been tempted, myself," Nelson mused.

Crane's tired eyes flashed with sudden humor. "They're hard on us, aren't they, Ski?"

"_Very_ hard, sir," Kowalski agreed.


	7. Fears and Dreams

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 7: Fears and Dreams**_

_I thought this would be the last chapter, but it turns out there will be one more. I didn't want to delay posting any longer, though. Thanks for your patience and encouraging reviews. I hope you enjoy!_

True to the doctor's prediction, Crane slept most of the day. He woke in the evening, ate a light dinner, and immediately went back to sleep. Chip, who visited him while he was eating, suspected he was forcing himself to be a cooperative patient in order to be released in the morning. Lee was quiet, still in too much pain to make easy conversation, so most of the talking fell to Chip. He told Crane about the Admiral's transmission from _Titan_ the previous day and how, in spite of Kowalski's assurances, he'd been suspicious enough to contact ONI. Nelson had spoken with Stark at least twice since he'd been back on _Seaview_. Morton knew some type of assault on Marcel was in the works, but hadn't heard any details. In any case, he told Crane, it wasn't their concern any longer. ONI, relieved _Seaview_ hadn't fallen into enemy hands and unwilling to risk it further, had ordered the sub away from the area.

"So that's it," Lee said softly. "Nothing more for us to do."

"That's about the size of it," Chip agreed. "I'd think you'd be glad."

"I don't know. I suppose I am." He smiled wanly. "I guess part of me wants a piece of Marcel, though."

"Now you sound like the Admiral. You should have heard him when Stark ordered _Seaview_ away. He said something about a promise he'd made to tear Marcel apart. He said quite a few other things, too. But you know, Lee," Chip said, "I think he knows it's for the best, even if it hurts his pride not to be in on the kill. Neither of you is in any shape for a fight right now."

Crane glared at him, but Chip didn't quail.

"You know you're not and the Admiral isn't, either. He finally went to bed after Doc threatened to sedate him. He's been through a lot, Lee. I know it doesn't compare with this," he gestured to Crane's bandages, "but he's worn out. He needs to give himself time and you do, too."

"Is that your opinion as Exec or as my friend?" Lee asked, his expression softening.

"Both, and you'd be wise to listen to me." Chip stood and stretched. "Will you be in the control room in the morning?"

"Yes, even if I have to break out of here!"

"If it comes to that," Chip laughed, "I'll help you escape. I'm getting tired of covering for you!"

X X X X

From his position monitoring the radar, Kowalski kept a close eye on the Captain. Back in command of _Seaview_, clean, shaven, and dressed in uniform, he looked almost himself. Only his stiff movements and the bandages on his wrists, visible when his cuffs shifted, indicated that anything was amiss. The crew had been informed he'd been injured, but only Morton and Chief Sharkey knew the details or that Kowalski was involved.

The duty shift had started at 08:00 and now it was nearly noon. Watching the Captain as he leaned on the plotting table, Kowalski could tell he was flagging. A sheen of sweat stood out on Crane's forehead although the control room was quite cool. His face was grim, his lips set in a tight line. To the crew he might seem merely out of sorts, but Kowalski knew the strain came from trying to control his weakness and pain.

"Pat, take over for me," he said quietly, slipping out of his seat as Patterson slid into his place. Kowalski approached the Captain. "Sir?" He spoke in a low voice so that no one else would hear. "Sir, I'm sorry, but you need to rest now. Doc made me promise to look after you."

For a moment Crane seemed tempted to argue, then he nodded and picked up the com. "Commander Morton, please report to the control room." Kowalski hovered at his elbow until the Exec arrived.

"OK, Lee?" Chip laid his hand lightly on Lee's shoulder.

"Just a little tired. Do you mind taking over?"

"I've been ready for the last hour. I didn't expect you to last this long."

Lee managed a smile.

"Will you be in your cabin?"

Crane shook his head. "Too confining. We'll be in the observation nose." With Kowalski on his heels, he slowly made his way forward. The observation nose was his favorite place, a haven from the bustle of the control room. In its aqua tinted light, he left the world of men far behind. He might be able to rest there, he thought, enveloped in the cocoon of the sea.

The dream of solitude was not to be, though. When Crane reached his destination he found it was already occupied by Nelson, who was picking at an enormous lunch spread out before him. Blueprints and plans covered the table, making odd placemats for the various dishes. So great was the Admiral's concentration on his work that he didn't notice Lee and Kowalski at first. When he looked up and saw the Captain, his face broke into a smile of sheer delight.

"Lee! I saw you in the control room earlier. Come in, come in!" Nelson waved them over and gestured for them to sit. "You look exhausted. How are you holding up?"

"I've felt better," Crane confessed, "but I've also felt a whole lot worse."

"You need to eat. Here, you two help yourselves. Cookie seems to think I went without for two weeks, rather than two days!" Nelson pushed plates in their direction and sat back, surveying them both with a critical eye. "Is something the matter?" he asked as Kowalski hesitated, looking pained.

"Nothing, sir." Kowalski took the plate, but didn't reach for any food. "I was just thinking about Marcel. He served me breakfast, but it was so different from this. I ate it, though. I ate it just the same."

"Then you did the intelligent thing," Nelson said. "Speaking of Marcel, he won't be causing any more trouble. Jiggs radioed this morning and told me he was captured last night, along with his men."

"What will happen to him?" Crane asked.

"Well, that depends on whether he was working for himself or on behalf of a larger organization. In any case, the three of us will be asked to provide statements and may be approached to testify if there's a trial. Can you manage it?" He looked at the Captain searchingly.

"I'll do whatever's necessary," Crane said. "You know that."

"What about you?" The Admiral asked, turning to Kowalski.

"If the Skipper can face that bastard, then I can," he answered hotly. "I'd sure like to punch his lights out."

"That makes two of us, but I imagine we'll have to be satisfied with a less physical confrontation." Nelson shook his head. "It's a shame someone as clever as Marcel used his intelligence for criminal purposes."

"I don't think he was all that smart," Kowalski said.

Nelson raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Kowalski flushed as both of them looked at him. "No, sir. After all, he thought he'd broken all three of us and it turned out he hadn't broken anybody. I think he was so used to winning he couldn't imagine anything different."

"Ski has a point," Crane said.

"Hm." Nelson studied Kowalski with narrowed eyes, more curious than perturbed at being corrected. Ski, aware he was being contemplated like one of the Admiral's experiments in the lab, took a sip of water. His hand shook, but after a moment Nelson mercifully withdrew his gaze and concentrated on filling a plate for Lee. "Eat."

Lee downed a couple of aspirin and forced himself to take a few bites, but he was too tired to chew. Pushing the plate aside, he rested his head on the table. Dimly, he realized he was sprawled on the plans for a submarine. "What's this?" he asked, tracing the thin pencil lines beneath his fingers.

"Ah!" Nelson's eyes brightened. "I was wondering when you'd notice. I've wanted to tell you but I was waiting for the right time. These are the blueprints for a new submarine, a sister for _Seaview_."

"The Institute's building a second sub?" Crane raised his head, roused by the enormity of the news.

"The _Daydream_. At least, that's the name I have in mind. It seems appropriate, since she's occupied my thoughts for a while now. Of course, it will take a couple of years to build her," Nelson continued, "and even longer to get the computer system installed and working properly." The Admiral smiled. "Nothing will happen right away, of course, but I wanted you to be the first to know."

"I don't know what to say." The Admiral's enthusiasm was contagious and Lee found himself grinning in spite of his weariness. "That's amazing, sir. Really wonderful! I was due some good news."

"Well, I'm glad to be the bearer," Nelson said. "Now eat."

X X X X

That night, Kowalski perched on the cot he'd brought to the Captain's cabin and waited while Crane showered. He would sleep there for the next few nights, available at a moment's notice to render assistance if the Captain needed it. So far, Crane's demands had been few. Kowalski wondered if this was because of his pride or if he regretted his choice of helper. Vaguely, Kowalski considered the possibility that the Skipper was punishing him by forcing him to face the results of his actions. That didn't seem like the Captain's style, though. Crane didn't have a reputation for playing mind games with the crew.

He was considering the possibilities when the Skipper returned, dressed in boxer shorts, his torso wrapped in wet gauze. "I couldn't stand the water hitting my skin," he explained, "so I just left the bandages on. They're sopping now, though. Do you mind helping me change them?"

Kowalski swallowed hard. The last thing in the world he wanted was to see the Skipper's back, much less touch it. He studied the Captain's calm, unreadable face. "I'm afraid I might hurt you again," he blurted out.

"I doubt it," Crane said. "The water should keep the bandages from sticking to the wounds. If you'd prefer, though, we can call Doc." He reached for the intercom.

"It's OK, I can do it," Kowalski said. "Maybe you'd better sit here, sir." He moved off the cot and made room for the Captain.

Crane settled into place, holding a towel loosely in his lap. Every now and then he caught some water dripping from his hair. Kowalski realized he hadn't regained enough range of motion in his arms to lift them and dry himself properly.

Getting the scissors from the supplies Doc had given him, Kowalski slowly started to cut away the gauze, exposing the Captain's back. Crane sighed gently as the last bit gave way without difficulty.

"How is it?" he asked.

Kowalski shook his head. "I don't know how to answer that, sir," he said truthfully. "It's better than the last time I saw it, when we were onboard _Titan,_ and I guess it'll be even better tomorrow, and the next day, but it shouldn't ever have happened." Tentatively, he touched Crane's shoulder where the doctor had put in a few stitches to close a particularly nasty gash. "You'll have a scar here, I guess." He took the towel from the Captain and gently blotted his back until it was dry. Then he began applying antibacterial salve with trembling fingers. Somehow, it was easier to talk when the Skipper wasn't looking at him. As he applied the ointment in gentle, rhythmic strokes, Kowalski finally found the courage say what he'd been wanting to for the last day.

"Skipper?"

"Um?"

"Do you think you'll be able to forgive me sometime? I mean, forget this happened? Do you think it's possible?" He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

Crane turned with a slight frown on his face. "Forgive you? You're worried about that?" He shook his head. "Ski, you did more than save my life on _Titan_. You helped me keep my self-respect when Marcel was doing his best to strip it away."

"But I hurt you, Skipper- hurt you bad!"

"There are things worse than pain," Crane said. Seeing Kowalski's dubious expression, he thought for a moment, then continued, "Marcel wanted to break us, right? He hoped to frighten and humiliate the Admiral by frightening and humiliating me. To that end, he set up the most dehumanizing situation he could manage. That's why I was blindfolded and displayed to his men. He knew what he was doing." Lee smiled sadly. "It was effective, too. I _was_ afraid, even though I tried not to let him know how much it bothered me to be helpless, unable to even see what was happening."

Crane sighed. "I couldn't get free or fight. All I could do was try to keep what dignity I could while waiting for the inevitable. Then you stepped in. You reassured me I'd get out alive but, just as important, you gave me a job to do, a way I could help. I had to stay alert and follow your cues. It was an effective distraction from fear, if not from pain." Crane looked at him earnestly. "It was a great gift to allow me to be an active participant in my own rescue, not just a victim. You gave me back a bit of the control taken from me, thwarting Marcel's intention and robbing him of his victory long before you carried me off _Titan_."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Kowalski said softly.

"Well, that's the way I see it," Crane said. "You've got to understand: Marcel would have flayed me to the bone if he thought it would break the Admiral." His steady gaze held Kowalski transfixed. "To the bone, Ski. Don't fool yourself about that. So this," he jutted his chin towards his shoulder, "is nothing. Will I ever forgive you? That's easy: there was never anything to forgive. Will I forget?" Crane shrugged. "I hope I don't forget an act of courage and self-sacrifice like yours. Don't think," he added, "I don't know what this has cost you."

Kowalski stood immobile, his fingers sticky with salve, too amazed to speak. Then his eyes filled and he dropped his head. Crane tactfully turned away and said briskly, "Can you bandage my back again? You're doing a great job."

"Thanks, Skipper," Kowalski whispered. "I'm trying."


	8. The future is always in motion

**The Demons of Wrangel Island**

_**Chapter 8: "The future is always in motion…"**_

_The reek of oil filled his nostrils, making it hard to catch his breath. Marcel's men surrounded him, propelling him down the narrow passageway. Hard hands bruised his arms. In blind distress he twisted, trying to break free, but it was useless. The hands tightened, fingers digging into muscle. He gasped in pain then ground his teeth together, frustrated by his reaction. They wanted him to squirm like a worm on a hook, but he wouldn't gratify them. Whatever they did, he wouldn't beg._

"Please…." The plea was low, but it startled him to wakefulness. "Please…."

Crane bolted upright, crying out softly as the abrupt motion sent pain shooting across his shoulders. He was in darkness and for a moment felt a surge of terror, but then he drew a deep breath and relaxed. He would know the smell of _Seaview_ anywhere. There was no way he could confuse it with the vaporous lower decks of _Titan_.

Lee shook his head, trying to dispel the dream. He couldn't believe he'd given voice to his fear. At least he'd saved it for the privacy of his cabin and hadn't really begged Marcel's men for mercy. At least, too, he hadn't woken Kowalski up.

"Please! Oh, God…" The moan startled Crane and he suddenly realized he wasn't the one who had spoken in the throes of a nightmare. The soft pleas came from across the cabin. It appeared he wasn't alone in his suffering.

"Ski?" He slid off his bunk and, in spite of feeling his way forward slowly, barked his shin against Kowalski's cot. "Damn!" He patted the sleeping man's arm and gave him a gentle shake. "Ski? Wake up!"

A hard hand, like the ones in his dream, closed on his arm and he flinched, drawing back in spite of himself. After a moment, the clutching fingers loosened. "Skipper?" The query was low and tremulous.

"Yeah. Hold on, let me get the light." Detaching himself from Kowalski, Crane slipped around the cot and flipped on the light. They both closed their eyes against the sudden glare.

"It's OK, sir," Kowalski said contritely, sounding more like himself. "You don't have to turn it on. I'm sorry I woke you. I know how much you need to rest."

"Were you dreaming about the Wrangel mission again?" Crane asked, refusing to allow Kowalski to brush off his distress.

Ski shook his head.

"_Titan_?"

"Yes, sir. But not like you think," he added quickly. "I wasn't dreaming about what happened. It was what might have happened." Crane looked at him questioningly and he explained, "l dreamed everybody was counting on me—Doc, the Admiral, you—and I couldn't think of what to do. I couldn't figure out how to rescue you. I just wasn't smart enough to take Marcel on. He was laughing at me, Skipper—laughing at me for being arrogant, for thinking I was better than I really was. And I had to watch as he did… well, what he did." Kowalski fell silent, trembling.

"Ski," Crane said, sitting down stiffly beside him, "it was just a nightmare. You were more than a match for Marcel. Your plan worked and saved us all." He nudged Kowalski. "Right?"

"I guess. It's just… ever since we got back from Wrangel Island, I've been really confused." His forehead wrinkled as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Maybe that's why I had so much trouble sleeping afterwards. I didn't know what to do with myself." He smiled wanly. "I guess I still don't."

"I'm afraid you've lost me," Crane said. "Was it because you asked me not to leave you? Ski, yours was a perfectly normal, understandable reaction to the situation. You don't have to prove your bravery or wonder what kind of man you are…"

Kowalski shook his head emphatically. "Thanks, Skipper, but that's not what's been bothering me. I wish I'd been stronger on Wrangel, but I've stopped beating myself up about that. Almost dying made me start thinking, though. Really thinking hard for the first time." His expression became troubled. "All of a sudden, I wasn't satisfied with my life. I mean, _Seaview's_ great—the best job I've ever had—don't get me wrong. But before Wrangel, I was pretty happy just to do my work. You, and Mr. Morton, and Chief—you worried about things and I didn't have to. Afterwards, it was different."

"Coming close to death has changed more than one man," Crane said softly.

"Yeah, I guess that's it." Kowalski ran his hand through his hair. "Remember how we both took shore leave after we got out of the hospital? I spent a week in Santa Barbara and do you know what I did?"

Crane shook his head.

"I called this girl I know named Ruth. She's a real pretty girl. I always thought I was so lucky she was willing to go out with a guy like me. Anyway, we were in this hamburger joint we go to and she asked what I'd been doing and how my leg got broken. Well, I didn't know what to say. I started thinking about all the things I've seen since I've been on _Seaview_—about how there are aliens visiting Earth, and sea creatures most people have never heard of, and how my leg got busted running away from a PR bunker, and I knew Ruth wouldn't believe me if I told her any of that stuff." He sighed. "Suddenly, I had to get out of there, so I paid the check and left. Left her, just like that. I started walking and I walked until my leg ached. Guess where I ended up?"

"Where?"

"The library." He gave a humorless laugh. "Can you imagine it—me spending my shore leave in the library? It was quiet there and I could think. I read so many books, Skipper. I'd never bothered with books before in my life. In school, all I cared about was surfing and girls."

Kowalski drew a deep breath. "The books were all right, but they made me uncomfortable. It was like I was addicted, though—I couldn't stop. But the more I read and thought about stuff, the more dissatisfied I got. Like, for instance, you know how Chief is always calling us lugs and pinheads and stuff like that?"

"He shouldn't, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it," Crane said. "That's just his way."

"I know and I used not to pay any attention to him, but now it bugs me. Or, even worse, things will just pop into my head. Stuff I don't have any business thinking or saying."

"What kind of things?"

Kowalski looked embarrassed. "Well, Mr. Morton, or Chief, or even you, Skipper, will tell me how to do something and all of a sudden I think I know a better way. I'd never disobey an order, though," he added quickly.

"I should hope not," Crane said with a slight smile.

"No, sir!" Kowalski paused, considering. "But why do I even have these thoughts and what will happen if I don't control them? At lunch today, what made me open my big mouth and tell the Admiral I thought he was wrong about Marcel? I must be going crazy." He buried his face in his hands. "All is know is, ever since Wrangel, I haven't been comfortable in my own skin. It's like there's something else inside with me, trying to get out."

"Maybe you should let it," Crane suggested. He looked at Kowalski earnestly and with more than a little pride. "What you're feeling are the stirrings of curiosity and ambition, Ski. Those aren't bad things."

"Yes, they are," Kowalski said in a pained, impassioned tone. "Look where ambition led Marcel! He tried to tempt me by making me his first officer. It was like he could see into my heart and twisted what he found there. And look what curiosity does to some of these crazy scientists we've had on the boat. I don't want to be like them!"

"You won't be," Crane said. "You've got too much good sense. Ambition isn't necessarily bad, though. After all," he smiled, "I was about the most obnoxiously ambitious midshipman in my class at Annapolis. And look at the Admiral: his curiosity knows no bounds. He thinks he can learn everything there is to know and so far, he's making pretty fair progress toward achieving that goal."

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because you're officers, sir," Kowalski said patiently, "and you're supposed to be that way. I'm just a crewman."

"Don't say that," Crane said sharply. Seeing Kowalski's chagrined expression, he added more gently, "You could be a Chief, you know, but why limit your dreams? After observing how you handled the _Titan_ affair, I'd say you'd make a damned fine officer. You were in command by default, and you got us—your team—out with only minor casualties."

"Minor?" Kowalski stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Yes, minor," Crane repeated firmly. "It was a big mess from the start and someone could have easily ended up dead. You showed quick wits and great strength of will. You were faced with difficult decisions and you thought your way through them calmly and logically. Those are the traits of a first-rate officer."

"But, Skipper, I can't be an officer! I don't know anything! I didn't even go to college."

"You still could," Crane pointed out. "The Institute offers a number of scholarships, if you're interested. If it comes down to it, the Admiral would pay your tuition without a second thought."

"You think so?" Kowalski was stunned. "You think he'd do that?"

"Absolutely. He thinks very highly of you."

Kowalski sat in silence, digesting the Captain's words. He'd never planned to divulge his strange, troubling thoughts to anyone, much less the Skipper. The possibilities were frightening, but also tremendously exciting.

"Then there's always the _Daydream_," Crane mused. "She'll be more than just a blueprint one day and will need a crew and officers."

"Will you put in to be her skipper?" Kowalski couldn't quite keep the concern out of his voice.

"Me?" Crane shook his head. "No, I'll stick with _Seaview_, no matter how many bells and whistles the Admiral puts on _Daydream_. I belong here. But Mr. Morton—who knows? He might put in for a promotion. He'd make a fine captain and deserves his own command one day." He stood and stretched gingerly. "Don't be afraid of your ambition or the future, Ski, even if they lead you away from _Seaview _to pursue new adventures. If I've learned anything, it's that the future is always in motion. We can't see where we're going; we can only trust ourselves and each other. And, God knows," he smiled, "I trust you, however you decide to chart your course."

Kowalski nodded, the tension draining from his face. There was no need for further assurances. After all, the proof of the Captain's faith in him was written in blood. He had a lot to think about, but he was no longer afraid to contemplate his choices.

Crane rested his hand on the light switch. "I'm glad you told me what's been going on. Think you'll be able to sleep now?"

Kowalski grinned. "Who's supposed to be taking care of who?"

"We're looking out for each other. Maybe Doc planned it that way all along." Crane flipped the lights off and started to grope his way back to his bunk. This time when Kowalski grasped his arm and steadied him, he didn't flinch. _Titan_ was only a shadow, an empty memory that exerted no hold over his mind. The nightmare of powerlessness and fear was dispelled. With sure steps, Crane allowed Kowalski to steer him through the darkness.

X X X X

_Well, that's all! Thanks for your comments and encouragement. I've enjoyed writing this and hoped you've enjoyed reading it!_


End file.
